


About Face

by englandwouldfalljohn



Series: All Roads Lead to Bart's: Alternate First Meetings [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, But Not Coffeeshop, Coffee, Ficlet, Fluff, John Watson is a Lab Assistant, John is clever, Johnlock Roulette, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:24:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8633509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/englandwouldfalljohn/pseuds/englandwouldfalljohn
Summary: Five times John walked away, and one time he turned around: John is a new lab assistant at Bart's. Sherlock is Sherlock.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ***Thanks to MyriadProBold for the prompt!***
> 
> CALL FOR PROMPTS! In this series, John and Sherlock will have alternate first meetings that somehow end with them meeting at the lab at Bart's, or some version of it. If you have a alt first meeting you'd like me to write, please let me know! Fluff, angst, smut, h&c, John/Sherlock as friends, developing, lovers, AU, whatever.
> 
> I can't bring myself to ship John or Sherlock with someone else, though if it opens that way and ends with Johnlock, I'm good to go. I am happy to include any secondary ships you might want. (For example, want them to meet because of Mystrade? No problem.)

The new lab assistant had been warned about this man, this _consulting detective_ , whatever that meant, who would come round and verbally abuse staff without cause, and who for unclear reasons could not be ejected.

"What?" came the aggravated growl from behind the microscope.

"Nothing," he'd been standing there too long, staring. _Staring… at what? He's just an ordinary bloke. Except for that giant coat draped over the centrifuge. Who owns a greatcoat these days?_

"I SAID," the man continued, his impatience on the verge of hostility, "did you bring the samples?"

"Oh, yes, sorry, yes," the assistant mumbled, placing the collection of petri dishes into a large, pale, outstretched hand.

As the man turned his attention back to his slides, he paused a moment, considering this unfamiliar person through narrowed eyes.

"You're new," he stated in an almost disinterested tone.

"Yes, I've just started this week, in fact."

"Good."

"Yes. Wait, sorry, what's good?"

"That'll be all," the man waved his left hand in a dismissive gesture, and John fought the urge to look back over his shoulder as he slipped quietly from the lab. 

* * *

"Afghanistan or Iraq?"

The sudden question startled John, who'd been taking inventory in the empty lab for nearly an hour. There in the doorway, artfully removing an expensive looking scarf, was that consulting detective.

"I… um… Afghanistan. Sorry, how did you…?"

"Will it disturb you if I work here?" the detective asked, already setting up equipment.

"No, as long as my moving supplies around won't – "

"It won't."

The two men worked in silence for what felt like hours before John built up the courage to speak again.

"I was wondering… if you might… fancy a coffee?"

"Mm. Black. Two sugars."

"That's not what I… um… ok."

*****

As John returned, carrying two paper cups filled with slightly burnt-tasting cafeteria coffee, he vowed to stop letting this detective person rattle him so much. _You were a soldier, Watson. Pull yourself together._

He nudged the door open with his foot, strode over to the man, and deposited the coffee by his notebook.

"What are you working on?"

"Case."

"What kind of case?"

The detective sighed and pushed his stool back, taking a moment to size up the man now leaning against his workspace drinking coffee.

"Potential homicide. Jealous sibling, drinking problem, supposed accident at home."

"But you think he was killed on purpose?" John inquired, fighting the tremor in his hand as he raised his cup to his lips.

"Yes. His brother did it. And if this reaction takes place as expected," he glanced back into the microscope and scribbled a few more notes, "yes, there. I've proven it."

John nodded once, then walked toward the door, pitching his cup in the bin on the way out. Though he murmured, "amazing," just loud enough to be heard, he was careful not to turn around. He didn't see the surprised look on the detective's face, or the unconscious smile at the corner of his mouth.

* * *

"So you play the violin?" John asked, interrupting the detective's thoughts.

"Listen, I don't have time for – "

John placed a coffee on the workspace. "Two sugars."

"Oh. I – " the man looked up suspiciously for a moment, then down into his cup, and back at John. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Any good?"

"No, it's dreadful, but what can one expect from – "

"I meant, are you any good. At the violin."

The detective paused a moment, then an expression of condescending humor came over his features.

"Ah, I see. I made a clever deduction about you the last time we met, and now it's your turn to show that you're clever. What, did you search for me on the internet? Or do you just have a very keen eye for callouses?"

John pointed to the man's satchel on a nearby stool. "Sheet music."

The man turned to his right, face falling as he saw the papers spilling from his bag.

"Oh. Well. I, um… I'm – "

He turned his head just in time to see a white coat hurrying out the door.

* * *

The consulting detective reluctantly removed his scarf and gloves as he entered the lab. It was unusually cold, even for January. Noticing the short figure bent over, replacing something in cold storage, he thought he'd better get this out of the way before it became too uncomfortable. Not that he was sure why he cared.

"Listen," he began, "about last time. I... Molly?"

"Oh, hello!" came the always chipper response. "What last time?"

"Thought you were someone else. Where's… um…" _What's his name? Why don't I know? Why would I know?_

"Where's what?"

"Who. That new lab assistant. The short one with the… hair."

"Hair? I think most of 'em have got hair," she giggled.

"Oh don't be deliberately obtuse. The military one. Short hair, dark blue eyes."

"D'you mean John Watson? He's working in another lab this afternoon."

"But he works here."

Molly shrugged. "I saw him on the lift, going up another floor. Why, do you need something? I can call Stevens…"

"No," he answered distractedly, tying his scarf back around his neck. "No, I suppose I'll just…"

He never finished his sentence, striding purposefully out the door toward the freezing London streets.

* * *

The lift was taking ages, each moment presenting an opportunity for him to second-guess himself. He hoped he would find the correct lab, and fast.

Peering through each narrow window as he passed, he was relieved when the third on the left showed him a glimpse of short blond hair and a set of test tubes clutched in a slightly trembling hand.

"John."

"Mm," he responded without looking up from the storage cabinet.

"John Watson, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers."

_That got his attention._

"Can I help – oh, it's you."

"Yes, I… well, I…" he trailed off, holding out a large cup of expensive coffee. "Listen, John, I… about last time…"

"S'fine. Forget about it," John said shortly, returning to his task. "Thanks for the coffee."

"Very good," the man blurted, apropos of nothing. 

"Sorry?" John said, closing the cabinet door and looking over his shoulder.

"The violin. I'm very good. I keep odd hours and sometimes don't speak for days on end. My brother is a bit, shall we say, over-involved, so the flat does tend to have surveillance equipment hidden around – poorly, of course. I do tend to get injured frequently in the course of The Work, though it's typically minor, and sometimes I keep samples of various… well, anyway," he suddenly became quite interested the seam on his coffee cup.

John hadn't turned around fully, hadn't met his eye at all. He was uncharacteristically disappointed, though he wasn't certain why. He slumped down onto a stool and pulled his mobile out of his pocket for something to occupy his hands.

"Right, well," John said, moving toward the doorway and lifting his cup, "thanks again."

The despondent detective opened a series of text messages without reading any of them, failing to notice that the lab assistant had returned.

"The name's Sherlock, then?"

Sherlock's head whipped around, his mouth falling slightly open. John looked back down at the cup in his hand, the personalized black marks barely legible. "Tomorrow evening, seven o'clock?"

Sherlock dumbly nodded his agreement.

"Baker Street, then. See you." And to Sherlock's astonishment, John Watson – army captain, lab assistant, and owner of the deepest indigo eyes he'd ever seen – _winked_ before walking out the door.


End file.
